


August 2017

by ArtisticVicu



Series: Monthly Prompt Writings [11]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Original Work, Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, Guardian of All-Hallow's Eve, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Original Character(s), Panic Attacks, bonded dragon, dragon whistle, guide for spirits, making amends, multiple stories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:34:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23419072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtisticVicu/pseuds/ArtisticVicu
Summary: Each chapter is a different story.Chapter 1:The whistle was nothing more than a trinket to remember home by. It was a simple tube of metal with a massive crack along the side. Even if he had wanted to use it, it wouldn't work; he wasn't overly keen on drawing the wrath of a whistle bound dragon, though, either.Chapter 2:She wasn't a Reaper, after all. Those guys had a whole other task compared to her.She, in turn, was there to help them. Sometimes a soul slipped by. Sometimes they couldn't take the soul. For whatever reason the soul was left behind, she picked up the slack. That was her job as the Guardian of All-Hallow's Eve after all, though there was more to it than simply helping the wandering souls when the veil became too thin for the Reapers to keep control.Chapter 3:From one instance to the next, the world was clear around him though the panic was still there. Harry found himself looking at none other than Tom Riddle, some bigwig in the government with a shady rumor about being a mob boss that Harry knew all too well was very true. This man had been after his family for years - after him for years - and now Tom was helping him out of a panic attack.
Series: Monthly Prompt Writings [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1684405
Kudos: 2





	1. New beginnings

"What's that?"  
  
He looked up, his hand clasping around the strip of metal he was certain had caught the dwarf's attention though he wasn't worried of the dwarf stealing it. Well, not this one. He already knew that the one with the odd, almost star like hair style had already helped himself to a few of his things.  
  
"A _sfyríchtra tou desmoú drákon_ , or a bonded dragon whistle in the common tongue," he answered, pulling the leather cord from around his neck. He handed over the slim tube of metal to the curious dwarf beside him. "It's useless so there's no worry of bringing a dragon here."  
  
"How?"  
  
He looked over his shoulder at the gruff dwarf with a dark mane of hair. Though no more attire than those he was with, it was clear that this dwarf was the one in charge even if they hadn't already shared introductions. "Well, for two reasons. The first - and probably the most important - is that the dragon this whistle is bound to is no longer living, or so I was told. Bound whistles don't generally get bound to a new dragon. Instead they are normally melted down and recrafted and not always back into a whistle. Additionally, whistles are not generally passed on to a new bearer without the dragon's permission. While a dragon can be controlled by the whistle, the dragon has final say of who controls them." He nodded at the whistle that the younger dwarf was inspecting. "That one's dragon is long since gone and was given to me by someone who had received it from the true bearer of the whistle as a trinket to remember home by. I wouldn't use it even if the thing worked. Case in point," he reached over and revealed the large crack that ran the length of the whistle, effectively making it nothing more than a trinket, "the second reason why it's useless is the damage that it had when I received it. Even if I wanted to bind another dragon to it, I wouldn't be able to. But I digress. Blowing on that and taking the chance that the bound dragon still lives would surely bring me death. The dragon was not able to say whether or not I could be the handler of this whistle and thus has all right to melt the whistle and me on sight. Additionally, calling an unbound dragon to bind with the whistle is a ritual I do not know fully and would most likely fail at the cost of my life, your lives, and anything within a rather large radius."  
  
He accepted the return of his whistle and hung it back around his neck before focusing back on the gruff dwarf. "He was not lying when he said that I could help. I am not a dragon tamer but I know enough to keep your Master Burglar safe. Well, as safe as one can be with a fire breathing lizard in a cavern system."  
  
"How do you have that?" growled the very large dragon. He wanted to whimper and cry but it would do nothing to get him and the halfling out of there alive. Instead, he stood his ground between the massive beast not breathing fire quite yet because questions needed answers and he was the only one with the answers the dragon wanted. "It should have remained with Fengari. Not get passed around when he-"  
  
The great beast reared back, lips curling in a snarl, but he was stepping forward, hand firmly clasped around the cracked metal tube. "Fengari believed you to still be alive," he called out, suddenly understanding the odd riddle that had been spoken to him when he had received the whistle. "He gave it to Nychta, who gave it to me before I left our home. Fengari had believed you still lived and thought passing it on would bring it to you to do with what you pleased." He closed his eyes, his heart heavy with the following words. "I think he wished that you had something to remember him by, even if he could not give it to you in person."  
  
The great fire drake stilled, focusing on him. He kept from fleeing on instinct. The halfling was still clinging to his leg, grounding him in the reality of the situation. One misstep and he and the halfling would be burned to crisps. "Fengari is dead?"  
  
There was no need for future sight to know that this had just turned for the worst. As much as the dragon boasted of his strong hide, a bond between dragon and whistler was that of family and death of either hurt the one left behind. He forced the words beyond his lips and was surprised at how steady his voice sounded. "I am the second generation to hold the whistle. Fengari passed two generations before I was born."  
  
If dragons could lose color like most mortals did, he was sure the one before him would look like death. The stillness was suddenly broken by a grieving dragon roaring in agony, dragonfire unleashed in their direction. He dropped to the ground, dragging the halfling with him, but he slipped off their ledge and into the gold beneath it. The dragonfire had missed the gold he fell in but somehow his motion to avoid it had gotten the whistle caught in the blast. It bounced hot against his chest, scorching through his attire and burning the skin beneath it. He yanked it off, leaving a nasty red mark across his palm from where the hot metal had touched his bare skin and he released it as soon as it was clear of his chest, the leather tie long since burned away. It fell into the gold, melting coins. The pile he was on shifted as the dragon stirred the coins. He grabbed at the ledge the halfling was still on and shouted, "Get to the company! Tell them! Warn them! I have to get my whistle!"  
  
"But-!" the halfling tried but he cut him off.  
  
"Go! I'm right behind you!"  
  
He found the whistle out of sheer luck. It had been hot enough to melt gold but not lose its shape. He didn't have time to ponder that as he scraped off what he could and scrambled to the nearest exit. The dragon was outside, threatening the lives of more than those on the mountainside and he had to do something. The air outside was sharp against his face but he barely noticed as he brought the still hot whistle to his lips and blew.  
  
He stared at his wrapped hands, lost in some other space in his head where thought wasn't really a thing. Things entered him mind only to slip out and it wasn't till someone was actually shaking his shoulder and dragging his attention to them that his mind started retaining thoughts and information.  
  
Relief crossed the face of the dwarf before him. It was one of the eldest of the company, the gruff one's adviser or something like that. "All right there, lad?"  
  
He nodded. He received a rough pat to the shoulder. "Good. The royals are awake and wanted to speak with you. Do you feel up to company?"  
  
He frowned. "Aren't they in worse condition than I?"  
  
The dwarf chuckled. "Well, yes, but it would seem saving a Prince's life has earned you a special place in that odd family right along with our Master Burglar, whom of which has been between your room and theirs so often, I think he created a trench in the floor."  
  
Amusement pulled at his lips. "Hey, at least that's easier to repair than damage done by a grieving dragon."  
  
He received another rough pat to the shoulder. This time he couldn't suppress the wince as it jarred the massive side wound he had sustained protecting previously mentioned Prince. The dwarf's expression softened and the touch to his leg was much gentler. "New beginnings are always welcomed in this dwarven kingdom if our current king has anything to say on it."  
  
He actually chuckled at that. "As long as I can make amends for my new charge, I think we'll be good."  
  
Two dwarves that he knew rather well joined them and with the help of all three, he was up on his feet and walking the hall to what had been dubbed as the royal confines by the others. It wasn't hard to see why as he found three dwarfs tucked into three separate beds in the rather large space with an elderly dwarf and a small halfling rushing about aiding the elven healers. At least two of the elven healers were aghast to see him moving about but the dwarven king, the princes, and even the dwarf and halfling's spoken relief at seeing him alive seemed to ease the elven healers' initial response.  
  
"I have your whistle!" the prince he had saved called out, waving the shiny tube about over his head.  
  
A kind smile pulled his lips and he crossed to sit in the chair beside the bed. He couldn't completely hide his wince as he sat down. "And why, pray tell, do you have my whistle?"  
  
The dwarf didn't even look remotely sheepish. "I was bored out of my mind so I asked someone to snatch it from your person so that I could restore it for you."  
  
He blinked at the whistle resting the dwarf's palm. What had once been a silver, cracked tube of metal was now a blend of gold and metal that seems to have been varnished blue. It was the oddest thing till the prince spoke up. "The dragonfire heat treated that metal of yours. It's not unheard of for some oars to do something similar with high enough heats but I've never seen that color before, let alone something not simply melting when touched by dragonfire. The gold filled in all the flaws. I just made it look nice."  
  
The dwarf had done more than just that and he could tell. Etched into the metal were all sorts of designs and images, things that he recognized even if just barely. But he did have a good enough eye that he commented, "More than one hand etched something into the metal." He looked up at the prince, gaining a sheepish grin from a flustered dwarf before he looked at the other two bedridden dwarven royals. Sure enough, the younger prince was beaming even more than his brother was as the king's ears had turned red as he tried to maintain his gruffness. There was a bit of the dwarf under the king's facade showing, though, and he smiled. "Thank you. All of you. I'll do my best to make such a gift worth receiving."  
  
"It is a gift," the king spoke out and he could see the confusion behind the sharp words. "There is nothing to repay."  
  
He stood. "I heartily disagree. The dragon bound to this whistle you have so magnificently restored for me while bedridden yourself has caused a massive amount of damage to your home and land and it is my responsibility to make amends." Several shouts when up but he heard none of the words. He shook his head and regretted the action as the world moved without him. He gripped the chair to keep from falling. "I will help with the repairs to your home and write to the dwarrows of my land to see if any clans would be willing to make the long journey to bring you aid in craft and strong forms."  
  
There was something in all the expressions around him that he did not understand, something that seemed to have touched all of them in a way he had been left out of. Pity, he didn't know how to properly counter such a reaction not knowing what it was.  
  
He was too tired to really care about that anyways.  
  
"I will make sure there is a solid connection between our kingdoms so that you are never without aid," he continued. "It'll take time but the dragon bond I now have will help tremendously. I will see about making sure that what aid I can provide from my own homeland is here within the year."  
  
The dwarven king dipped his head. He heard the thank you loud and clear and offered the dwarf a nod in return.


	2. Take me by the hand

She drifted through the twilight, the tails of her hood fluttering about her head in the soft wind. The cowl hid her eyes from the sharpest of the sun's setting rays and she watched as the rays slowly died between the skyscrapers and among the leaves of the trees. From this height, she could see the shadow that was night chasing the setting sun. A line of darkness swallowing everything in its path as the planet rotated under her.  
  
But, unlike previous nights, this one was bustling. Children were out on the streets with their parents. Even from this height she could practically hear the excited chattering, the emotions from down below wafting up to her, washing over her like a soothing balm. While many had long since forgotten what this night had really been about at the height of its creation, there were still enough that followed the old beliefs that she had no worries of the reason for this night disappearing. Even if the holiday became nothing more than an excuse for the mortals to dress up and get a ton of candy, she had plenty of work to do during the normal year that it was irrelevant to her. Besides, the wayward souls appreciated her greatly for her guidance.  
  
She was just extremely lucky that not all souls that became separate from their bodies were wayward. Otherwise she would be drowning in souls every second of her life.  
  
She wasn't a Reaper, after all. Those guys had a whole other task compared to her.  
  
She, in turn, was there to help them. Sometimes a soul slipped by. Sometimes they couldn't take the soul. For whatever reason the soul was left behind, she picked up the slack. That was her job as the Guardian of All-Hallow's Eve after all, though there was more to it than simply helping the wandering souls when the veil became too thin for the Reapers to keep control.  
  
Speaking of which...  
  
Darkness that had nothing to do with night slithered through the city beneath her, drawing her attention. She dropped from her spot in the sky, already collecting her magic in the form of a scythe.  
  
The number of weapon designs she had gone through the past years she'd been Guardian was ridiculous but her favorite in the current time was the scythe. A long pole with a blade that was nearly two third's the length. It had a nice weight to it, allowing her to let the weapon do it's job with little effort. Besides, the things she was going up against weren't that intelligent. Especially when she caught them by surprise.  
  
Her scythe sliced through the air, catching all three apparitions in one stroke. There was a brief moment before their conjured forms swirled together, creating three round masses of ghostly essence. She unhooked the lantern on her hip and unlatched one of the panels. It swung open and the little floating balls were carefully swept into it. The candle within flickered but didn't go out and the apparitions already in there barely seemed to notice the jostling, though those already captured did welcome the newcomers, allowing the newcomers to go from the blackish, purple grey they had been to the gentle cream like color of those within the lantern. This also meant that the apparitions new forms shrank and became about the size of marbles. She smiled, latching the lantern shut and hooking it back on her hip. It was nice that they all seemed to shrink when she caught them in the lantern like that. Made it easier for her to gather more before she had to empty the lantern.  
  
Her smile fell.  
  
These apparitions were a different kind of wayward spirit; the bad kind. Usually they were souls too heavily corrupted in some form or sent to maintain their true essence and form. More and more were appearing nowadays and, sadly, the number that were children was increasing as well. It broke her heart that the world she had long since left was changing so.  
  
A flicker of golden light caught her attention.  
  
It wasn't something mortals could reproduce. It was something she had long since come very accustom to looking for and knew innately the difference between it and a mimic.  
  
This particular golden light was that of a child.  
  
The hardest to aid were the children.  
  
While she enjoyed seeing them brighten once they were being led home, it was always hard to know that such young souls had agreed to such a short life here. And the fact that these young souls were leaving souls that deemed the child unfit to leave was hard as well. But the number of souls that were leaving due to neglect or abuse was increasing. The dimmer the light, the more troubled the soul. If corrupted, the soul will not retain its human form.  
  
This one was a lucky one.  
  
She wondered why there wasn't a Reaper for this child as she pushed her hood back.  
  
"Hello little one," she offered, her voice filling the air. The child looked to her and she realized the answer to her question. The veil had thinned. This was the type of wayward spirit that was her responsibility. Glancing over the soul's form clearly noted no ties to any place on this world, though, no strings leading the soul to where it was needed. It had simply crossed over in curiosity and was now in need of some guidance. She smiled softly and offered her hand.  
  
When the little hand filled hers, she drifted back towards the stars, reciting, "Take me by the hand and lead me home. Let there be no darkness between here and there. For guiding me on this very night be the Guardian with the Sight."  
  
Several other souls began to follow as well. Unknown by the mortals, her voice was allowed to carry through the area. The words were like a spell of sorts, or a lullaby. But, mostly, she repeated it because it allowed her to remain calm, separate, and her mind on the task at hand. For those that recognized the old words, it was a greeting. For those that didn't, it was an explanation. A vague one, but one that worked well enough.  
  
The higher she rose, the more souls followed. The lantern on her hip glowed brightly and she removed it from her belt only to clip it to her scythe. It shone brighter there and acted a s a beacon. More souls followed.  
  
Once they reached a point where looking back only revealed the pinpricks of lights that marked cities rather than individual light sources, the souls were surpassing her. While the veil may be thinnest on the planet, the openings to the other sides were not always there. The easiest one to guide souls to was the one highest above the planet. Mostly because it kept any attacks from becoming ambushes.  
  
She really hated those nights.  
  
Additionally, it left those opening clear for the Reapers should they need them.  
  
A child soul ran passed her, laughing as it raced after other children souls. She smiled softly, watching as each soul vanished. As the last of the souls were vanishing, she unlatched the lantern and let the souls within out. They dashed out, going this way and that, but all of them eventually disappeared. With a heavy sigh, she turned and dived towards the surface.  
  
Her night had only just begun.


	3. Seeing is deceiving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Part 1](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23418799/chapters/56128114)

Rachel shifted till her back was against the wall, her body facing him and a thoughtful expression on her face. "Well, one way or another, you're going to have to talk with Severus and Tom. They are not going to let you stay indefinitely without your aunt and uncle's permission, especially with Severus being one of your professors. It would be improper."  
  
Harry shook his head. "Rachel. It was bad tonight. I don't care how improper it is, I can't go back. Uncle Vernon threatened to actually follow through with the threats he's been spewing for years. I'm just lucky he was more drunk than sober today."  
  
Rachel's expression darkened. "Harry, did he get his hands on you before you left?"  
  
Harry frowned at her, not trusting where that thought was going at all. "Why?"  
  
"Harry, if you have marks proving abuse, it'll be easier to get you out."  
  
Harry glared at her, defensive and betrayed as he leapt to his feet. "I'm not telling anyone about this."  
  
"You have to," Rachel countered, though she remained sitting. For some reason, her lack of reaction infuriated him even more. "Otherwise Severus will only send you back home when yer time's up."  
  
Harry shook his head. "I'll just not go home."  
  
Rachel glanced out the window but Harry couldn't see what had briefly caught her attention. "You won't have the choice." She focused back on him. "You live too far away. Severus or Tom will end up driving you home. It'll be dark by the time Severus says you have to go. He won't even give you the chance to walk."  
  
"I'm not telling them."  
  
Rachel shrugged as she stood. "Whether you want to or not is all up to you, Harry." She gave him a look he couldn't decipher as she stepped passed. "But they will most likely confront you about it before you leave, regardless of how careful you are. Both of them were abused as kids. They know the signs."  
  
Harry watched her go, feeling lost. He clenched at his shirt, fighting the panic attack coming on. He knew better than to come here. He knew better than to involve anyone else. He should have just found a bridge to live under or figured out how to leave the city and find work in some small town out in the middle of nowhere and disappear into the world.  
  
The panic attack took over without his bidding.  
  
When he finally started to drag himself out of it, he registered the fact that he wasn't alone anymore. He blinked, unable to see clearly who was beside him but the voice was calm and it made for a good anchor, especially when he realized the voice was talking him out of the panic.  
  
From one instance to the next, the world was clear around him though the panic was still there. Harry found himself looking at none other than Tom Riddle, some bigwig in the government with a shady rumor about being a mob boss that Harry knew all too well was very true. This man had been after his family for years - after _him_ for years - and now Tom was helping him out of a panic attack. If he hadn't known better, he would have sworn that he was hallucinating. He had heard from others that the Dark Order was changing its ways due to the boss having had a change of heart. It would seem that he was going to see that change personally. Harry just hoped no Death Eaters joined them for dinner. He had enough working with mobs from having to deal with the Light Order. Honestly, the Phoenixes weren't as scary as the Death Eaters were but they certainly were just as annoying at times.  
  
"You alright, now?"  
  
Harry focused fully on Tom. It would seem his mind had wandered a bit. Giving a curt nod, he watched as Tom seemed to relax, leaning back to give him space. Harry relaxed though he kept an eye on Tom as Rachel came forward, kneeling before him. She refrained from touching him and he smiled at her, appreciating the lack of touching at the moment. Seems she remembered what had happened last time she had touched him so soon after a panic attack.  
  
"I didn't mean to cause that," she offered in apology.  
  
Harry briefly noted the two adults frowning before he turned his full attention her. "You didn't. It's just been a long day."  
  
"That it has," Severus's voice spoke out, drawing all eyes to the dark haired man. "Dinner's ready if we're all hungry."  
  
"Starving," Tom commented, standing. "What have you made for this fine meal?"  
  
Harry couldn't help but watch in awe as Severus's features softened as he looked at Tom. "Chicken Cordon Bleu with couscous, an assorted salad, and mashed potatoes."  
  
Harry was instantly salivating and he whole-heartedly agreed with Rachel's moan and soft muttering of "mashed potatoes and couscous". Though, for him, it all sounded quite enticing. He swallowed thickly, suddenly feeling like he was intruding.  
  
No one seemed to notice Harry's sudden change in demeanor as Tom smiled at Rachel. "I agree." He focused back on Severus. "It all sounds wonderful. It about done, then?"  
  
Severus nodded. "We have about five more minutes before the chicken is done but I don't see why we couldn't start now."  
  
Tom nodded in return, briefly touching the other's arm. "Good. Then let's get started."  
  
Harry fell into step beside Rachel, asking in a low voice, "Ray, I aught to leave now."  
  
She gave him a bewildered look but kept her voice down for his sake. "Why? Severus made enough for all of us."  
  
He blinked at her and she offered him a soft smile. "Dinner was actually set to be ready early. You showing up meant that he had to make some more of everything so that made it so that Tom came home to a hot meal, rather than a lukewarm one."  
  
He started at her. "How..."  
  
She beamed at him. "Seeing is deceiving, Harry." Her expression turned rather serious. "You should know that better than anyone, really, and that means you should know by now I am far more perceptive than I look. That and I've known you long enough to know how your brain works." She brushed her fingers over his arm and he was able to not flinch from the touch. "You are not a hindrance. Severus loves a good excuse to show off his cooking skills to my friends."  
  
Harry offered her a soft smile, touched. "I'm glad I could help."  
  
She beamed at him as they entered the dining room. Four places were set, two seats on each of the long edges of the table. Tom and Rachel moved towards a given seat while Severus went to the kitchen. Harry came to a stop within the entryway, not sure what to do.  
  
"Come join us, Mr. Potter," Tom spoke, his voice encouraging and his expression joyous. "No need to stand there like a coat rack."  
  
Harry glanced into the kitchen. "Won't he need help?" Harry asked, approaching the seat beside Rachel. She had plopped down across from Tom and there was no way he was sitting next to the man.  
  
"Don't worry!" Rachel chimed, uncovering a bowl to reveal rolls. "He'd shoo you away as soon as you appeared to help."  
  
"I'm less likely to lose a dish that way," came a reply from the kitchen. Harry turned to see Severus entering with a large dishes in either hand. He arched an eyebrow at Rachel munching on a roll. "I see the bread has been discovered by the mouse."  
  
"Merely leading by example," Tom seemed to approve, snagging a roll for himself and tearing a chunk off. Harry watched as the man bit into said chunk, not sure if he was permitted to follow suit as he glanced at a beaming Rachel.  
  
Severus rolled his eyes with a sigh, but Harry couldn't tell if the amusement was a trick of the light or not. "Fair enough. Just leave room for the chicken."  
  
Severus returned to the kitchen as Tom grabbed one of the large dishes and started serving himself and the empty plate beside him. Rachel nudged Harry with her elbow and Harry jumped, startled by the touch and accidentally banging his knee against the table. Thankfully, it didn't do more than make a solid thud but Harry still turned bright red because of it. "Sorry," he muttered, looking to Rachel. "What's up?"  
  
She had an expression on her face that shifted too quickly for him to decipher. She gestured at the remaining large dish. "Pass the couscous?"  
  
Harry reached out and picked up the bowl, handing it off. There was quite the helping of both couscous and mashed potatoes, not to mention the amount of rolls. While he knew forms could be deceiving - Ron was a black hole if ever there was one - none of the people present in the home appeared capable of eating all the food present, not even between the three of them. This put Harry at ease a bit, allowing him to take the couscous from Rachel and serve himself from it.  
  
He kept it small, both due to not having eaten well the last few days and not wanting to overdo it as well as due to not wanting to take too much that another went without.  
  
Maybe this wouldn't be so bad. That and the food looked excellent.  
  
"So, Mr. Potter. How's your home life?"  
  
Harry flinched. So much for a good night.


End file.
